


A Thousand Ways to Fail at Love

by try_again_love



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Amy Santiago Loves Jake Peralta, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Jake Peralta, Domestic Violence, Hurt Amy Santiago, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's important to the story, Jake Peralta Loves Amy Santiago, Jake Peralta Needs a Hug, Original Character Death(s), Toxic Relationships, Whump, also just pretend teddy wears glasses, dark!Teddy, dark!sophia, not really but kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24439831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/try_again_love/pseuds/try_again_love
Summary: A multi-chapter fic based off of I Built a Friend (Alec Benjamin), Must Have Been the Wind (also Alec Benjamin), and Pas de Deux (Dodie Clark) because they fit together so well.If you want to have more backstory, listen to those songs. TW: They are explicitly about domestic abuse and suicide.There is a suicide in here but it's an OC. Jake and Amy don't die, I promise.Trigger Warnings will be on each chapter respectively.
Relationships: Amy Santiago/Teddy Wells, It's implied, Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Jake Peralta/Original Male Character(s), Jake Peralta/Sophia Perez, Rosa Diaz/Gina Linetti, just a smidge - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	1. I Built a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: suicide, child abuse, emotional abuse

Jake Peralta's best friend was a robot. Well, not really, but he did like to tease his real, human best friend about being replaced by one. It was stupid anyway, just a collection of parts that he'd built on the den table. Besides, it was no fun to tease David anyway, he would just laugh along with you.

Regardless, David was his best friend, the kind of friend that you know you're going to grow old with and make mischief in nursing homes. Jake thought their families must have been close too, because David's parents let him spend the holidays at the Peralta house every year. They would save up allowance money and buy each other presents. One year, Jake had sprung to get David a watch. He hadn't taken it off his wrist since. 

Jake was and had always been a natural detective. He noticed how sometimes, David winced when Jake hugged him or he limped a little bit. Occasionally, there were bruises- so vivid they were visible even against his dark complexion, and David would have some insane story of how he got them. Jake knew better than to believe it- he was a pretty smart six-year-old- but when asked, David insisted he was telling the truth, so Jake didn't prod any further. 

Once in a while, David would show up at Jake's house in the middle of the night, and Karen Peralta would gaze at him with a look Jake only recognized from the time they'd found out he was allergic to bees and he'd gone into anaphylactic shock. 

Jake took note of all these things, and along with them, how despite being his best friend, Jake had never met David's parents or been to his house. 

* * *

Jake had barely turned seven when it happened. 

He was on the couch playing video games when he heard a loud crash come from outside, followed closely by a string of words that Jake was _not_ allowed to say. The door opened and suddenly his father was stumbling across the room, a glass bottle in hand. He grabbed Jake's hair and Jake smelled something similar to the wine that his mom would drink sometimes. 

"Ow! Dad, stop, you're hurting me," Jake cried.

Within seconds, Karen was in the room. "Roger, what the hell are you doing?"

"Dammit kid! Do you ever shut up?"

"I'm sorry!" Jake whimpered, tears spilling down his face. 

Roger leaned over to the wall, dragging Jake with him. His eyes stopped on a small mechanical toy in the corner of the room- the model robot Jake had built- old, cracked cellphone serving as a head with pens for legs. 

"You're gonna pay the price now," Roger grunted, and Jake wasn't entirely sure if he was talking to him or the robot. He tipped the bottle over. As soon as the liquid made contact with the cellphone, it broke into spasms, all the while fizzling and making strange popping noises like some sort of sick breakdance. In under a minute, the robot went still.

"You killed him!"

"It was your fault," he muttered, "You threw me off balance."

"Let go of him." His mother's voice was deeper and angrier than he'd ever heard it before. She hadn't been that mad even when Jake had drawn on one of her important papers. 

As soon as Roger released him, Jake ran to his room. He collapsed as soon as he passed through the doorway, shaking and crying. Hours later, his mother came into the room looking for him, but he was fast asleep on the floor, his cheeks still wet. She sighed, gently placing him in his bed with a kiss on his forehead, stroking his hair. 

When he woke up the next morning, Roger was gone. His mother told him that he had a flight, but Jake could tell this time was different. His dad wasn't going to be gone for a few days and then show up again covered in lipstick stains spewing 'I'm sorry's. He'd fumbled his way through his last empty apology. 

Roger's words repeated over and over in his head: _It was your fault_. 

* * * 

It wasn't until Jake was older that he began to understand what was really going on with David. It had hit Jake in the middle of one of their conversations. They were talking about a test they'd just taken when David had remarked, "I sure hope I got an A 'cause if not, I'm 'boutta get my ass whooped." He was joking, it was obvious from his tone, but suddenly Jake could imagine the mysterious, dark adults that he wasn't allowed to meet back at the creepy house he'd never seen, waiting for their kid to screw up. 

"David, why do you come to my house at 2 in the morning?"

He froze, unable to come up with a suitable lie. Tears formed against his eyes, but Jake could tell he was trying hard to fight them. 

"You can't ask me that."

"Why?"

"That's not fair, you can't ask me that," David repeated, voice turning sharp. 

All Jake could think of to say was, "I know."

Then the dam broke. Salty rivers flowed freely down his face. Jake practically threw his arms around him, tears pricking at his own eyes. 

"Shitty Dads Club?" he joked. David put his hand up for a weak high-five. 

Jake finished the gesture. "To be fair... your dad is arguably shittier than mine."

"Still shitty though." 

Jake nodded. 

"Don't tell anyone, please."

"I promise, but," he paused, "stay safe." He pressed a kiss to David's lips. 

"Thanks."

* * *

While the rest of their classmates were at celebratory dinners with their respective families, David and Jake were sobbing in his bedroom. 

"You could apply for financial aid," Jake said. 

David shook his head, "My parents can afford it, they just don't want to pay."

"Weren't you saving up for college?"

"They found out, made me use the money to pay rent."

Jake stood up angrily, only to collapse onto his bed in frustration.

"This is so not fair! If you're not going, I'm not going."

"Nah, you have to go," David insisted. 

"I don't need a degree to get into the Academy, I could wait a few years for you to figure something out."

"Maybe not to be a cop, but to be a good one you sure do, unless you wanna end up like those racist motherfuckers."

He turned to Jake, whose face was twisted in pain. 

"Just make sure you visit, got it?"

"Of course!" Jake shouted indignantly, "Always." He returned to the floor, leaning against David. He breathed in the smell of him, letting David's strong hands run through his hair. 

It would be okay, it had to be. Jake and David were forever. 

* * * 

They'd agreed to break up since Jake was leaving for college, that's why it was totally fine that he thought she was enchanting. It wasn't like he'd repressed his feelings and tried not to think about David, it wasn't like he was thinking about David right now. Not at all. 

She was popular and attractive, with sharp edges, ones she knew how to use. She was in control of everything she did. He hadn't learned her name yet, but he wanted to so badly. 

(It was Sophia Perez. When he first heard it, he'd had the strange urge to whisper it to himself over and over again until he'd memorized the exact shapes his mouth made when he said it. He'd never wanted to memorize anything before; his teachers hated him for it.)

After their first date, he was totally starstruck. He was an idiot around her, stuttering incoherently and blushing at her every word. Time passed by in a blur when he was with her, and every time he would find himself in his bedroom again, wondering where the hours had gone- and he always, _always_ wanted more. He often found himself wondering what the hell a pathetic, gangly guy like him had done to deserve someone as perfect as Sophia Perez.

And she wanted him back. She wanted every second of his time. She didn't like it when he hung out with other girls, or when he got back later than six- it wasn't that she didn't trust him, but she wanted him home for dinner. She got really upset when he wasn't home for dinner. She really hated it when he made plans without her. She said it made her feel sad, like he didn't want her around.

Jake wasn't his dad. He would never cheat, and he would never leave her. He needed her to know that, so he stopped hanging out with other girls, he was home before six, and he didn't make plans without her. His friends weren't happy about it. In fact, his friends didn't like Sophia, didn't like how she treated him. 

But Sophia said that wasn't fair. He was in a relationship now, of course it took up more of his time. Why couldn't his friends just be happy for him?

It made sense when she said it like that. Why _couldn't_ they just be happy for him? After that, he stopped worrying so much about not spending time with his friends. According to Sophia, they were bad friends anyway, and everything made sense when she told it to him. 

Hence, when she asked him to stay with her for Christmas break, he said yes. His mom hadn't been happy about it, and David still hadn't responded to his email telling him the news. He loved his mom and he loved David, they weren't bad friends, but maybe they were having a minor lapse in judgment or something.

The call came a week before the break ended. His mom had found the body on the den table. That's all he was now: the body. Jake was already in the car by the time his mother hung up. He barely registered Sophia screaming at him. He didn't care.

They were supposed to be forever. 

* * *

A few hours later, he was home. 

"It's my fault. I didn't visit, I promised I'd visit," Jake whispered. He was laying on the couch, his mother's arms wrapped around him. 

The mental image of David's corpse on the table replayed over and over again. He pictured it fizzling and popping like his robot had when Roger had poured his beer on it, arms flailing and eyes bulging before he went disturbingly still. 

Karen drew in a breath and asked, "What was your girlfriend like?"

He filled with rage, "Why are you asking me that now?"

"Just answer the question."

Jake sighed, "She was great," he paused, "I mean, she was beautiful and she liked me, and she was nice. I think she was nice. She really liked being with me though, cause you know, she wanted to hang out with me all the time. She didn't want me to go out with my friends and stuff, but that was because she really cared about our relationship. She made sure we always had time for each other, I had to get back by six or she would be upset-"

"Did she make you happy?"

"Of course she did! I really liked her."

"I didn't ask if you liked her. I asked if she made you happy."

Jake gnawed on the corner of his thumbnail, brow furrowed. 

"I was scared a lot that I was going to do something that upset her. It felt really bad when she was upset because she was working so hard for our relationship and I was making it harder."

"Is that how you feel or did she tell you that?"

He pressed his face into his mom's shirt, tears coming harder now. 

Karen put a hand on his back, using her other one to stroke his hair. 

"I know, honey, I know," she cooed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read my other story, I Love You and I'm Sorry, remember David from chapter 3? Sorry about killing him twice, he's just a go-to OC for me. I'll put him in another story where he sticks around (I already have some fun ideas for him).
> 
> Also I know Jake had other childhood friends (Gina, I could have made Charles be one) but I can't bear to kill off any actual b99 characters, I love them too much.


	2. Must Have Been the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: domestic abuse, implied/referenced suicide (past)

Jake Peralta knew what shattering glass sounded like. Not only was he a cop, but he couldn't even begin to count the number of times his father had "dropped" a bottle in a drunken rage. To be fair, he was really bad at math, but it was still a lot of times.

The point is: he could tell the difference between a glass breaking against a wall and the wind making creepy wind noises.

It started at night- he didn't know what time, only that it was dark and the streets were virtually empty- when he heard the noise coming from somewhere above him. As his bleary eyes fluttered into focus, his first coherent thought was that he must have been dreaming. 

But he knew it wasn't a dream when one sound stopped and another started. He hadn't noticed the crying at first, it had been background noise in comparison to the deafening crash of the shards clattering to the ground. He only became aware of it in its absence. Now, all he could hear was a voice. It was shaky and hoarse- it obviously belonged to whoever he'd heard crying- and Jake couldn't hear any words, but you didn't have to be a genius to know that this was not a late-night accident. 

Jake thought about writing it off as nothing, it wasn't any of his business anyway, but then he thought of David. He wondered how many people had ignored the sounds that must have come from his house, how they slept at night. 

No, it was decided. He couldn't go back to sleep. Instead, he slipped out of his apartment and into the elevator. He guessed the noise had come from the apartment right on top of his, so he pressed the button for the second floor. He walked down the hall, searching for number 208 _(I'm 108, or 109... no, 108)_. He knocked softly on the door, waiting nervously for someone to open up.

He wondered if the girl who'd been crying would be the one to answer, or would it be the one who caused her tears? 

A voice pulled him out of his thoughts, "Hello, can I help you?" Jake could tell she hadn't been asleep, she was far too alert for that. She wore a hoodie, zipped up all the way to her chin. He could hear the strain in her voice, trying hard to make it sound like she was okay, like everything was fine. 

"Hi, I'm in the apartment below you. I heard some noises coming from your room and I wanted to make sure everything was okay."

She didn't answer him, seemingly frozen. 

"Um," he started, "Is everything okay?"

Then, she jumped into action, "Yes, of course. Everything's fine! Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, I thought I heard a glass break?" he said, twisting the end of the sentence upwards into a question. 

"Really?" she asked, tilting her head to feign perplexity, "Your ears must be playing tricks on you."

He stared at her skeptically and she averted her gaze, shifting her weight uncomfortably. 

"Thanks for caring- that's really nice of you- but I," she stammered, "I have, you know, sleeping to get back to, so... I'm sorry I couldn't tell you anything about the noise you heard, but I didn't hear anything. I guess it must have been the wind." She forced a smile and then ducked back into her room, not even giving him a moment to say goodbye. 

Jake wandered back to his apartment, deep in thought. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, opting instead to lay on the cool floor. He was trying to think like a detective now. He didn't have enough evidence to jump to any conclusions, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more at play.

He remembered getting the phone call about David. He remembered driving home on autopilot. He remembered asking about the funeral only to find out that there wasn't going to be one, that his parents said the way he had died was sinful, that he didn't deserve one. 

He stood up so fast he almost hit his head on his dresser. Grabbing the doorknob, he practically charged to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly and impatiently. Within seconds, he gave up and ran to the stairs. This time when he knocked, he wasn't calm or collected. His chest heaved from the running and he hadn't spent a second thinking about what to say. 

He was answered again by the woman, still zipped up tightly in her sweater. 

"Look, it was nice of you to come and check on me before, but it's the middle of the night. I don't even know who you are. What the hell do you want?"

"I'm Jake Peralta, NYPD," he reached for his badge before remembering that it was still on his nightstand, "I just, the noise, I was worried," he sputtered. 

"Okay, Jake, I already told you, it was probably the wind. I really can't deal with this right now, so do us all a favor and leave me alone." 

The door slammed in his face. He turned dejectedly back towards the elevator.

Before he could take another step, he heard someone yelling. He pressed his ear to the door of apartment 208. _Fuck, that's creepy, I should not be doing that._ He was just about to take his ear off the door when he heard words.

"Who was that?" snarled an angry voice. 

"I don't know, some random guy from downstairs." Jake recognized the voice of the girl he'd just spoken to. 

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," she whispered.

"What did you tell him, Amy?" he shouted. 

"Nothing," she repeated, tears audible in her voice. 

The man in the room let out a furious yell that Jake couldn't make out. 

He ripped his head from the door, dashing back down to his own apartment. This wasn't a one night fix, he needed a plan. 

He couldn't just knock on her door again because the man was getting suspicious, and he couldn't make any decisions for her, but somehow, he needed to let Amy know that she was going to be okay. 

(On another note, the name Amy was really gorgeous and now that he thought about it, so was she. But this was not the time for those thoughts, so he locked them away for now.)

Suddenly, he knew what to do. He ran into his bedroom, grabbing a large boombox and then opening a drawer and rifling through it. When he'd finally dug through all of his mixtapes, he pulled it out: the first cassette tape he'd ever purchased, Lean on Me by Bill Withers (he didn't listen to a lot of older music, but this was sick, okay?). He jammed it into the boombox- he didn't actually know how to insert it properly, it was a miracle that he hadn't broken any of his cassettes yet- ran back to the living room, and aimed it at the roof. He hesitated for a moment before hitting play. _Should I wait until morning? Can she hear it? How will she know it's me? Will she even understand? What if he hears me?_ He shuddered at the last thought, then shook the thoughts out of his head and pressed the button. When his arms got tired of holding the stereo, he placed it face up on a high shelf and left it playing, only stopping when he got a noise complaint. He prayed that she'd heard. She had to know that he could help her, get her out of whatever her situation was with that man.

For the third time that night, he couldn't get David out of his head. 

(He would keep playing that song every night for a week to the point where he would almost get kicked out of his apartment, but before that happened, he would hear a knock on the door. 

He would open it to find Amy wearing the same hoodie, still zipped up as far as it could go. They would smile softly at each other for a moment before she collapsed into his arms.

He would tell her, "I promise I'll be here for you. You can come here whenever you want to, I'll even give you a key in case I'm not home. Whatever you need, I can help. If you need a friend, I'm here. We'll talk about the noise I heard- when you're ready- but 'til then, we'll just say it was the wind. Cool?"

She would nod softly into his chest.

She would visit a few times and then one day, she would knock on the door and he would see her tear-stained face and usher her in. She would stand there, look him in the eye and say, "His name is Teddy," and he would wrap his arms around her and lead her to his couch. He wouldn't say a word until she was done talking.

Then, they would sit together until they had a plan.)


	3. Pas de Deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that this is based on uses specific names for the characters so for the purpose of this fic: Poppy is Amy, Tommy is Teddy, Sam is Jake. Also, pretend that Teddy wears glasses.

At 16 years old, Amy is a dancer, and a good one at that. Her partner's name is Rosa. She's got wild black hair, she's scary and secretive, and she talks back to teachers, but nonetheless, she and Amy couldn't be closer. This means that Amy knows more than five whole facts about Rosa, something not a lot of people do, and Rosa knows that Amy has a thing for glasses. And that maybe it has something to do with the fact that Amy spent a lot of her childhood being teased for her large, nerdy-looking spectacles, but if she dates someone who has a pair of their own, they won't make fun of her for it. 

One day, Amy finds herself squealing with Rosa in her bedroom- that is to say, she is squealing and Rosa is rolling her eyes so hard they might fall out. A boy likes Amy, a smart boy who knows lots of facts and he's not a dancer, but he knows the history and etymology behind every one of the leaps and spins that she does inside and out. Sure, he talks about pilsners a lot, but hey, people have flaws. Amy decides that this particular one can be excused the day he shows up at her door with a practical arrangement of flowers (red and white, classic), an adorable bowtie, and a whopping pair of glasses that he repeatedly has to push back up his nose as he talks they're so massive. 

The first time he kisses her, she feels like she's walking on rivers. He lifts her up and spins her around and she thinks _this is love_. 

A month later, everything changes. 

She tries not to notice, but she thinks he's getting louder. He doesn't whisper her name anymore. Now, he yells it, and she starts to hate the sound. His smile has transformed into a scowl. Just like the day he showed up at her doorstep, Teddy has ambitious plans. She doesn't know how she fits into them anymore. 

Amy is really good at dancing: twisting her body into beautiful shapes, wringing out negative emotions like water from a towel. But now, she's dancing around him, trying to contort herself into just the right shape that will make him love her again, and she can't do it. Maybe she's not so good at dancing after all. 

They've been together for a year when he asks her to quit. She fights back. He says she's too old to be dancing anyway. He says it's getting in the way of "us." He says, "You should be focusing on me." He implies that she's not. He implies that she isn't putting all of her efforts into keeping him happy. He implies that somehow, he is the victim. 

And he wins the argument. (He always does.) She knows that this is wrong, but she thinks she ought to do it anyway. All she ever earned by fighting back were bruises.

(She gets new ones that night. She thinks that she is the one that has crossed a line.)

Another year passes before she sees Rosa again. 

By this point in time, Amy Santiago is engaged. She doesn't really know how it happened. She'd gone into the restaurant bathroom and returned to find him on one knee. She didn't know what to say, and not in a happy, "I'm speechless," kind of way. She really _didn't_ know what to say, because she wanted to say no, but she didn't know why, and there were so many people staring at her. She couldn't possibly humiliate him in front of all of these people. The applause from the crowd was deafening. She pretended her tears were ones of happiness. 

She didn't want to be Amy Wells. She doesn't want to be Amy Wells. 

She needs an escape, so she sneaks out while her fiancé (why does that word make her shudder?) is at work and her feet take her to the studio. 

Guilt and memories come flooding back to her. Disappearing without a goodbye, a flood of unanswered texts from Rosa getting angrier by the letter, tears blurring her vision as she watches Teddy block the number. 

Despite her mind's every protest, she opens the door. 

Standing, _dancing_ in front of her is a gorgeous figure with unmistakable wild, black hair. She dances a pas de deux with a new partner- Amy feels a pang of jealousy that she knows is unfair but she cannot help- a redhead with piercing blue eyes. She gets lost in watching them, only shaken from her trance when Rosa stops dead.

"Santiago? What the fuck are you doing here?" 

And she bursts into tears. 

They end up at a pizza parlor somewhere in the city, Amy, Rosa, and the redhead (who introduced herself as "the human form of the 100 emoji"). Together, they help Amy realize that this is only the beginning of the escape she needs. 

Amy knows in her heart that she is a dancer. 

She loses track of the time and arrives home hours past her curfew. She finds Teddy at the door to their apartment. She pushes down a twinge of fear. 

"Amy, I was worried sick about you."

"Teddy, we need to talk."

A flash of anger crosses his eyes. 

"Yes, we do."

That night, a glass shatters on her wall, a stranger knocks twice on her door, and their wedding date is set. 

Amy Santiago is sure she will never try to escape again, ever. 

Until she hears the sounds of a certain Bill Withers song coming up softly through the floor, and she knows she has a friend. 

* * *

Late in the night, she leaves.

* * *

Amy, Rosa, Gina, and Jake sit at a pizza parlor in the city. (Yes, it's the same one. It's really good pizza.)

Rosa and Amy are perfecting a pas de deux for their next performance. Gina and her very own dance troupe are working on a piece of their own. Jake has prepurchased tickets, multiple tickets. 

"I'm very proud of you and I'm going to bring friends, Amy," he says. She doesn't hate the sound of her own name, anymore.

Amy leans across the table and kisses him. Rosa and Gina roll their eyes. 

He doesn't wear glasses, but he loves how she dances. 

And Amy knows this is love. 


End file.
